is ugly good looks.

The gaze of each one seemed to fuse in that of the other. Hers, at
first coldly curious, tentative, caught light, warmth, intensity from
the sombre fire of his. Suddenly he said:

'In God's name, Biddy, how did you come to marry that rough brute.'

'IS he a rough brute! It's very rude of you to say so. But do you know,
just for a half minute to-day, I rather thought so myself. I don't
pretend to agree with Colin's methods of treating the Blacks, though
I'm told it's the only way to treat them--you know they did commit
terrible atrocities up here.... Still to flog a black man, a wild,
warlike, human creature, seems to me nearly as bad as shooting him. Do
you know--the first thing I ever heard about Colin was that he had a
great many notches on his gun, and that each one meant a wild
black-fellow that he had shot dead.'

'And now he flogs tame ones,' Maule observed quietly. Her brilliant
eyes searched his face for a sign of malevolent sarcasm, but not a
muscle quivered. Her own eyes wavered under his steady look. She busied
herself among the tea things.

'Sugar?'

'Please.'

But she paused, the tongs balanced in her delicate fingers.

'It is frightfully thrilling--life in the Bush.'

'What part of it? The shooting or the flogging?'

She burst out: 'You know I hated that. You know I was furious about the
flogging. You know'--She pulled herself up.

'I know nothing--except that you must have changed enormously in a very
short time to have been thrilled with anything but horror--by that sort
of thing.'

'Yes, I have changed. But it isn't time that changes one. Time never
counts with me. It's only feeling that counts. Oh, of course, I think
it all horrible--about the Blacks up North. They're not allowed on this
station--except one or two half civilised stock-boys--and this one fell
in love and carried off his gin, and brought her here against my
husband's orders.'

'Yes? And you had befriended them--I gathered that. But it doesn't
explain YOU.'

She took up a piece of sugar with the tongs, holding it suspended as
she spoke, jerkily.

'Why should I be explained? As for my finding life in the Bush
thrilling.... I was dead sick of falsities when I left England, I
wanted to be thrilled by something real.'

'And you found that--in your husband?'

'Yes; I did. He IS real, at least. He is true to himself. So few men
have the strength of their goodness or the courage of their badness,
when